Fire and Rain
by King Reepicheep
Summary: Donald has gotten into some trouble (with the United States government) so he goes to Panchito presumably for help but Panchito realizes too late that Donald is working for someone, and that someone wants both of them dead. Crime-tragedy-mystery. T: Character Death.


**Fire and Rain**

A knock at Panchito's door.

The rooster was just enjoying his Sunday cup of coffee, his paper, and the morning sunrise when this happened. Being good natured and not wanting to keep whoever it was waiting, he got up and opened the door, coffee and paper in hand.

Standing in the doorway was Donald, he wore a black suit and looked a bit nerved.

"Panchito," the duck said nervously, "I need your help."

"Donal' you do realize what time it is right?" Panchito said. It was eight o'clock in the morning. In three hours, Panchito would go to church, he would then return home to clean house, go to the grocery store, call his girlfriend, watch a movie, have lunch, go exercise at the gym for an hour and a half, return home, do some paperwork for work, have dinner, watch another movie perhaps or see what was on television before going to bed. That was in the rooster's mind at least, a perfect Sunday well spent.

"Yes I know what time it is," Donald said, "lo siento," he said firing off the only Spanish word he could remember from high school Spanish class, "but I'm in deep water here. Mind if I come in?"

Panchito stepped to the side and let Donald pass. Panchito noticed the way his friend walked, how he was shaking nervously and behaving rather odd, as if he had committed murder or something.

"Where are your pistols?" Donald asked moving some things around in the kitchen.

Panchito didn't answer that question for multiple reasons. The rooster realized what Donald was thinking, or at least he thought he did. "They're in the repair shop." Panchito said, lying. They were actually in a gun safe. He always kept them there when he was home.

"_All_ of them?" Donald asked, knowing of Panchito's extensive collection of weapons ranging from Beretta M9's, Smith and Wesson, Colt .22's, all the way to a 7.62×51mm M40, which is the military standard issue sniper rifle that Panchito received as a gift for assisting the United States government in a National Security matter. Being a private investigator has its privileges.

"Si," Panchito said, "all of them." The rooster walked into the kitchen, seeing Donald grabbing the edge of the counter as if his life depended on it. He was shaking wildly, his eyes moved from side to side, and for some reason, he began to fumble around with a lighter.

"Donal'," Panchito said growing worried, "what's wrong?"

"N-n-n-n-nothing." Donald said.

Panchito set down his coffee and newspaper on the counter closest to him. "Then stop shaking then."

"I-c-c-c-can't." Donald replied, "I d-d-d-d-did something. H-h-h-h-horrible."

"Well, what was it?" Panchito asked.

A knock at the door. Panchito reluctantly opened the door and saw a man in a black suit. He was a federal agent with the dark dehumanizing sunglasses, the earpiece which was currently clipped to his suit jacket, the shiny military polished shoes, the perfect specimen of the law. Panchito noticed that this man was about six foot three, had large protruding muscles and a menacing eyebrow.

"Mr. Pistoles," the federal agent said, "are you aware that you are currently harboring a fugitive of the United States government?"

"I believe you have the wrong feather fowl," Panchito said, "for you see, Donal' Duck has an evil twin, his name is Hannibal, he went down the street a moment ago, tried to rob me even. If you hurry you could catch him."

The agent wasn't buying it, to be honest, Panchito wasn't doing a good job. The agent stepped forward, Panchito stopped him with his hand. "Just what do you think you're doing?" The rooster asked.

"I'm investigating this property sir, now please, move." The agent said threateningly.

Panchito laughed, "I don't think so. You see only my family can come through this door, and since you're a psychopathy loony bin who thinks that he's a government agent, for you obviously aren't, I know because I used to be one, then you have my permission to leave the premises before I count to three."

"What happens once you hit three?" The man asked.

Panchito smiled, "You don't want to know."

A shot rang off.

Panchito turned around and saw Donald holding one of Panchito's Beretta's. Apparently, the duck had found Panchito's gun safe.

The barrel was smoking, the duck's eyes were vicious and violent. Panchito noticed the barrel and it's trajectory - the rooster looked down and noticed that he was bleeding. A bullet was in his chest. The rooster fell to his knees and looked at Donald with sympathetic eyes.

"Donal'," Panchito said, "don't do this."

Donald raised the pistol. "I'm sorry Panchito," he said, tears running down his face, "but you've become a liability."

"What are you talking about?" Panchito asked, breath going out.

Donald didn't answer that question. He just readied the pistol for firing again. Another shot went off. The man who stood in the doorway had a Beretta 92, an Italian military issued handgun. This man's name was Marcus Aurelius Ontario, an Italian American who's job qualifications placed him at number two on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list. His bullet hit Donald square in the head, dead center, it was, in a strange way, beautiful.

Panchito watched his friend fall dead, face down. The rooster caught Donald's head and gently placed him on the floor. He bowed his head and took several moments of silence.

When he was finished Panchito simply said: "What do you want?"

"For you to die." Marcus said.

Panchito smiled, "Go ahead."

Marcus raised his pistol and placed his finger on the trigger...


End file.
